


You Light Up My Life

by waywardrose



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Fluff, Secrets, Sneakiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: The first time you knew something was up was when Flip started his car and hurried to change the radio station.





	You Light Up My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: Prompt H and K with Flip Zimmerman x Reader. Thanks so much; I love your imagines!
> 
> Thank you for the prompts, sweet nonny! 💝 I appreciate you—and it!
> 
>  **Honesty** \- _Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?_  
>  **Kiss** \- _Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?_
> 
> Prompts from the [Fluff Alphabet](https://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com/post/186447745297/fluff-alphabet)

The first time you knew something was up was when Flip started his car and hurried to change the radio station. He mumbled something about one of the guys from the precinct messing with it. You offered to change it to his usual, but he told you to forget it and turned the whole thing off.

You’d mentally shrugged, but made a note to notice other weirdness.

The second time something struck you as strange was just after moving into the new house. Flip used part of the tax return to purchase a stereo system for the basement. Usually, you’d balk at that. Because it was the _basement_. While no flooding had occurred, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

He’d bargained with you, though. Repeatedly. Over many nights. And afternoons. With one memorable time in the shower.

He set up the smaller, simpler system on a sturdy shelf above his workbench. The speakers hung on the wall. He had a modest collection of records down there, too. Somewhere. You’d been down there when he wasn’t home to get a few canned goods—and okay, you’d nosed around a bit—yet you saw nothing resembling records.

Strangely, the workbench had been super clean. As if he’d just finished a project. But he hadn’t told you he’d been making anything. Yes, he’d fixed a few things that had been slightly damaged in the move. However, he’d finished repairs last week.

The third time was when he was installing the behind-the-door shelving unit he’d made for the master bathroom. The shelves weren’t deep, of course, but it would keep all the grooming supplies off the counter. He was half-humming/half-murmuring a song as he attached the finishing pieces.

You listened to him and tried to place the song, but you didn’t recognize it. That was odd, because you both listened to the same type of music. It didn’t sound made-up, either. Flip wasn’t a musician, so you doubted he’d be extemporaneously composing in his spare time.

You thought he might be expanding his musical horizons. Then again, he hadn’t said anything about discovering new music.

Something was going on with Flip. You knew it. You dismissed him seeing anyone behind your back. You trusted him, and he you. There were no problems there.

But he was hiding something.

Your gut told you the answer was in the basement. Instead of just nosing around, you really searched. You rummaged through the reused moving boxes. You shuffled canned goods around in the pantry area. And nothing.

You turned to the workbench and gnawed on your thumb nail. You didn’t want to invade his privacy, but this not knowing was torture. You paced in front of the bench until you decided, _‘fuck it.’_

The workbench had drawers on the side and a deep shelf under the work-top. There were two boxes on either side of the deep shelf. You assumed they stored tools that didn’t fit in the tool chest.

Maybe you were wrong, though.

You pulled out one of the boxes and gasped when you saw its contents. There was more than one offending item to be a coincidence. You huffed as you perused the box, shaking your head. You then hauled the heavy box upstairs to the front room.

Oh, Flip was going to get it when he came home.

He was a little late getting home, but that didn’t surprise you. He and Jimmy were working hard on a side case. You were so proud of him—giving his all and putting himself on the line. Since it was a Friday night, and it had been a long week, you’d decided to make one of his favorite meals: spaghetti and meatballs.

Everything was keeping warm on the stove, and the water was heating as Flip opened the front door. He greeted you as he hung up his coat.

“Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked and fumbled for the switch on the closest lamp.

You stood in the doorway and watched his face as the front room was illuminated. It was priceless. _Delicious._ You wished you’d thought of having a camera ready.

You’d spread all his _paraphernalia_ on the coffee-table. He looked down at the coffee-table and back at you as if he couldn’t believe you’d figured him out. You were a good match for him for a reason.

You pointed at the coffee-table, trying to keep serious. “Explain yourself, _Cream Cheese.”_

His cheeks flushed. “I— I…”

The workbench box had been full of 45s. Each single was a sappy, cheesy, corny love ballad. There was Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life”, “You Needed Me” by Anne Murray, “Without You” by Harry Nilsson, Bob Welch’s “Sentimental Lady”, and so much more.

“How much cash have you blown on these?”

“It’s all my money.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“And why aren’t they in the collection up here?”

“I know you don’t like this shit.”

You frowned. “I never said that.” You approached him and placed your hands on his forearms. “Why’re you hiding them?”

“It was just supposed to be… I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked down. “For me.”

Heavy guilt flooded through you. You hadn’t meant to violate his privacy. You just wanted to razz him a little. Of course, he was supposed to have his own interests and private time. And here you were, poking right in because your curiosity had been piqued.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” you gently said. “I’ve just been noticing things, and I was curious.” You offered a shy smile. “I’m very interested in you.”

“I’m interested in you, too,” he grumbled.

“There’s nothing wrong with this music. I won’t tease you, I promise. You like whatever you want.”

He added, “They’re all about you, you know.”

“The songs?”

Before you could continue with a snappy comeback about how none of those songwriters knew you, he said:

“I’d hear one and think of you.”

His pulled his lip between his teeth and finally met your gaze. He looked like a shy boy, if you ignored the goatee and muscles. There was something vulnerable in his dark eyes that pulled at you.

Unexpectedly, your voice wouldn’t work anymore, and you had to blink away the blur of tears. Because he thought of you in these romantic terms. You tugged at his crossed forearms. He released his hold, and you stepped closer to hug him. While he’d never been oversweet, you knew he’d always had a soft spot for you. That certainly wasn’t something you wanted to make fun of. You were grateful he loved you and saw you in the beautiful things.

Flip hugged you back, fiercely and warm. You rested your head on his chest and could smell his aftershave. Under that was the leather of his shoulder holster and cigarette smoke. It was comforting and so Flip.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“It’s not huge deal. They’re just records.”

“That are yours.”

“Eh, now you have evidence I’m a sap.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “A sap I totally love.”

“I love you, too.”

“You better.”

“Even if you are a little snoop.”

“Hey!” You grinned as you thumped your hand against his firm waist. “I resemble that remark.”

He smiled, and you pulled him down as you raised yourself to kiss him. Kissing him was still like a spark. Even that first kiss, which had been awkward and full of bumping noses and clacking teeth, had been a flashpoint. You’d felt that heat down to your toes.

Even now, you couldn’t keep from losing yourself with him. He held you tight, his hands clutching you. His silken lips were full and strong and always welcomed. He was hot honey and sweet relief. His tongue was clever and sure. He made you dizzy with his affection. He gave you the stars at night and an ocean of pleasure.

You reluctantly pulled away a scant inch. “How about after dinner we listen to a few of your forty-fives?”

His hands slid down your back to cup your ass. You knew exactly what he had in mind while listening to those songs, too. You both shared a grin.

“I’d like that,” he replied, his eyebrow quirking.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com)


End file.
